


Beyond the Wooden Fence

by kokoro_kikoeru



Series: Old Wives’ Tales [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Characters are probably gonna be ooc, M/M, Multi, Non-Binary Bill Cipher, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Sporadic Updating, Yandere Bill Cipher, coming up with this as it goes i guess o v o, i'm not putting the warnings in the tags so that they're a surprise muahahahaha, i'm still deciding on what the fxck bill is :|, well kind of yandere i guess, what are tags how dafuq do they work crai ; - ;, yeah the characters are ooc i am so sorry fxckkk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokoro_kikoeru/pseuds/kokoro_kikoeru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What lies beyond the wooden fence is “nothing,” simply “nothing.” Only looming trees among other trees and furry creatures of the endless wilderness, prancing and sauntering about. There is nothing else, nothing more, therefore heed my words, dear young one—<em>never</em> go beyond the wooden fence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm hello this is my first fanfic and sorry if it's not good ; - ;  
> uh so if there's any mistakes as in grammar errors and such that you see, please notify me since I would be very grateful ((i'm a grammar-and-spelling-obsessed freak)), thank you  
> so uh  
> i wrote this a while back during my hiatus ish thingy moe bob thing and i'm not sure if i will continue it  
> but i'll leave that up to you  
> Hope you enjoy reading it ; v ;

A young Mason “Dipper” Pines sat cross-legged on the freshly cut grass. He sat there, staring into the mysterious nothingness of the milky, paperlike sky on the other side of the fence, waiting for his sister to return. Mabel had gone to another play date, though this time, she was the only one invited. The kid had gotten used to being the odd one out—the weirdo, the freak, the wolf. Although, Mabel was always there to comfort him, no matter how bad people insulted her. He pouted and sighed, growing bored over the past few hours of waiting. There was nothing to do—nothing on television, no one and nothing to play with and there was no Mabel to talk to.

Like a being and its shadow, the two twins used to be nearly inseparable. Their parents had tried to get them to play with others but soon realized that was a mistake. Mabel would generally seem fine with it but at times her personality would do a one-eighty and she'd become sour, bitter, spoilt, rotten—all in all, just plain unpleasant to be around. Dipper would sometimes start hyperventilating or bawling, saying he didn’t want to be apart from the other and thus, the two became isolated from the children around them. However, over the years, young Mabel Pines began to make other friends, thereby leaving her brother all alone more and more frequently. He had been fairly difficult at first, but began to embrace the change. He didn’t want to burden his sister anymore. He’d rather not burden anyone at all unless he absolutely needed to.

He watched the grey clouds pass on over to the horizon.

_Drip._

_Drop._

_Drip._

_Drop._

It’s raining.

He stood up and slightly stumbled, for he had sat there for quite some time, then walked back inside the house.

 

* * *

 

The young man watched the fence through the window, waiting, _aching_ for something to happen. Something strange or anything, really, but there was nothing. Only the sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind and the pitter-patter of woodland creatures.

He noticed something was off about that fence. It was always there, standing between the town and the wilderness, towering above both. Always straight, always almost perfect and, unnervingly, always almost never harmed or crossed. If a forest fire that caused flames to rise and burn the woods to the ground until only ashes would remain, he was certain that it would remain as it was before. Not a scratch or a scorch. If a woodpecker were to come along and attempt to drill a hole through it, the poor bird would probably break its beak. If one decided to knock it down or remove it, it would stay there, standing tall.

Though, sadly, no one else noticed this. No one but him. His very own beloved twin had said that he was merely seeing things or being paranoid. The other kids in the neighborhood along with the bullies from school all said he was crazy. His father and mother said that he’s been reading too many books on the supernatural and that he just can’t tell reality from imagination or dreams anymore.

The lad clenched his fist. He felt so bitter and it felt absolutely revolting. Not wanting to remember any more of those hurtful words and horrid memories, Dipper went to his room and took out his favourite book. He quietly read, immersing himself into the tale. He only came back from his entranced state when he realized that the clouds had parted and the rain had finally stopped.

Dipper stepped back into the backyard, hearing a squish and a squelch with each and every step he took. He walked across the yard until he was only but a few meters away from the fence.

And suddenly, something happened.

He heard the snapping of a measly twig that was soon followed by the ceasing of the rustling of bushes on the other side, the sounds of wildlife and the wind blowing through the leaves. Having his boundless curiosity piqued, he asked aloud, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

...No answer. Only the returning sounds of the wilderness and the trees. The boy was disappointed and fairly disheartened. He had expected something more. Sighing, he started to make his way back to his room, only to be greeted by an abundance of words written all over the back of the house in scarlet red radiating a blinding gold.

 

_**"̶ͥͣ͏͚͖̟̼̠̬͈̗B̳̼̹͎͉̝̠͇ͤͬͯ̚͝Ę̰̲̹̳͓̖̈ͬͮ̿͂͆ͥ͠H͕̳̟̭͓̦̖͙̆ ̩͍̯͕ͫ͊͌̊̍ͭ̈̉̆͡Iͮ̃ͭͪͣ͆̆̄͏̟̻̤͞ ͉͕͔̞̙̘̱͓͆ͥ̋͡Ň̸̥͔̭̮ͨ͐̎̽̇̂Ḑ̘͚͉̫̪͗͠ ̢̧̮̻͕̗̱͉̞̇ͨ̄̈́͛̌ͅ ̢̱͗́Y̰̰̺͍ͭ͗ͤ͠Ô̧̲̹̣̰̦̒̈͛̓̌̈ͯ ̖̞͈̹͉̘ͯ͑͂͌́Ů̵̷̩̻̤̩ͪ̌͗̎"̵ͪ͛̔ͨ̆͛͏͖̜̙͈̫̟̦** _

 

He turned around. In a small hole that was pierced through a board of the wooden barrier, there was an eye, peering at the boy from the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh  
> that thing (("̶ͥͣ͏͚͖̟̼̠̬͈̗B̳̼̹͎͉̝̠͇ͤͬͯ̚͝Ę̰̲̹̳͓̖̈ͬͮ̿͂͆ͥ͠H͕̳̟̭͓̦̖͙̆ ̩͍̯͕ͫ͊͌̊̍ͭ̈̉̆͡Iͮ̃ͭͪͣ͆̆̄͏̟̻̤͞ ͉͕͔̞̙̘̱͓͆ͥ̋͡Ň̸̥͔̭̮ͨ͐̎̽̇̂Ḑ̘͚͉̫̪͗͠ ̢̧̮̻͕̗̱͉̞̇ͨ̄̈́͛̌ͅ ̢̱͗́Y̰̰̺͍ͭ͗ͤ͠Ô̧̲̹̣̰̦̒̈͛̓̌̈ͯ ̖̞͈̹͉̘ͯ͑͂͌́Ů̵̷̩̻̤̩ͪ̌͗̎"̵ͪ͛̔ͨ̆͛͏͖̜̙͈̫̟̦))  
> In case you couldn't read it  
> then uhm so  
> it says  
> "BEHIND YOU"  
> uh  
> Thank you for reading the first chapter ; v ;  
> Uhm I'd be happy to know whether you guys liked it so please leave some comments thank you ;;  
> sorry for troubling you if i had _(:3 」∠)_
> 
> EDIT 7/27/2017 : Some stuff might be rewritten or altered in some chapters so that the story makes sense later on. Sorry ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` ).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: (A very small smidgen of) Blood & Crying.**
> 
> \---
> 
> ...yeah this is really ooc sorry ; H ;  
> edit: i've no idea what my twelve-year-old ass was thinking while writing this but every time i read it over i cringe so sorry for that.

The startled brunet fell backwards, onto his rear. Despite having the temptation to stay and nurture his stinging bottom, he ushered himself to quickly stand up and scamper back to the house—a stronghold concealing and protecting him from the murky enigma surrounding the place he called “home.” But his attempts were futile and to little avail, for he stumbled and unceremoniously tripped, scraping his knee in the process. The eye spectating through the hole crinkled in amusement in response to the scene that was displayed before them.

The poor boy watched with wide eyes as he gaped at the sight of his warm blood trickling down his leg before splattering onto the cold ground. His cheeks became a soft, pastel red and warm, translucent tears threatened to spill from his eyes, ready to join the droplets of crimson resting on the damp land. His head was somewhat pounding and his throat felt similar to a scorching desert. His vision had become hazy and blurred. But worst of all, or at least according to the pitiful child, the wretched, pathetic and scrawny body of his was unable to cease its trembling. The kid was about to cry.

He felt bitter. He felt miserable. He felt scared. _He felt unquenchable anger._

 _“Stupid! You shouldn’t cry—this is why you're always getting picked on! You can't count on Mabel anymore; you're getting older now… she can't always be there for you. You've gotta man up. You've gotta make sure she stays happy. You've gotta get used to this,”_ he told himself, _“It's fine, everything's fine.”_

What pulled him from berating of his loathsome and forlorn self was a voice that echoed through the leaves of the birches and branches of the evergreens in the forest, making several flocks of birds to hastily take flight from the sudden disruption in the soothing sounds of nature.

“Yeesh, Pine Tree! There’s no need to freak out!” it snickered, mockingly.

The kid turned around, now curious and wide-eyed, immediately forgetting the pain and fluid trickling down from the graze on his kneecap. The voice had come from the owner of the eye, but who was it talking to? Dipper tilted his head to the side, scrunching his face in confusion. Were they talking to him? The lad wasn’t sure, and although no one else seemed to be around, he would preferably rather not suffer the brief embarrassment of replying to someone, or perhaps _something_ , who wasn’t talking to him. But it probably was him whom this individual was attempting to converse with, after all, the child was covered in pine needles which certainly would give reason behind “Pine Tree,” which was probably and possibly a nickname.

 _“But what if I’m wrong?”_  thought the boy with clothes covered in the needles originally from the limbs of the firs and spruces, growing within the lush forest. His obliviousness to the piercing gaze of the eye was absolutely astounding.

The view of a young Dipper Pines obtaining a migraine from over-contemplating on the choice of whether to answer or not was truly pleasing to the other’s eye. They smiled in pure euphoria—a toothy smile, baring solely snow-white fangs, obscured by the looming shadows of the trees and hidden behind the wooden fence. It was a good thing that the chestnut-haired meatsack didn’t cry. The fluids and substances that came out from these beings, or so-called “humans,” were positively revolting. Although, in (illusional) reality, they didn’t want to admit the fact that they were hoping to see fat pearls of tears cascading down those ruddy cheeks.

“Y’know kid, as much as I’d love to see you torture yourself, it’s pretty rude not to respond to someone who’s talkin’ to ya!” it said.

The unknown entity that had spoken just then said nothing after, expectantly awaiting a response from the young and innocent child. They presumed that the kid would ask many questions, all most likely being inquiries revolving about the topics of _“Who are you?”_ , _“What do you want with me?”_ , _“Why are you here?”_ , _“What are you?”_ , and _“Are you good?”_. Perhaps a scream and a whimper or two beforehand (in other words, the predictable reactions from those lower life-forms when they encountered the dreadful unknown—which often were undoubtedly tedious). The being hidden behind the fence remained still and anticipated a horrified or a shocked look on their visage soon. But their expectations were never met.

He watched patiently as the boy rubbed away the drying film of tears fogging his vision, got up and brushed off the soil, mud and other fallen remnants from the woodland around him that had attached to his attire. Dipper stared blankly into the eye belonging to who-knows-what and audaciously pointed towards it.

 _“Ah, so it’s a who or what are y—”_ they thought, but their pondering was interrupted by a statement made by the young chocolate brown-haired human before him.

“You talk funny,” stated the naive Pines twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dense oblivious dipper is cute im sorry not sorry idk  
> possible tsundere bill incoming meh  
> who knows  
> anyways uhm so uh if any of you notice any errors do please notify me  
> other than that have a great wonderful fantabulous day/night/afternoon/ idk ; w ;  
> see you in the next update i guess


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVERRRRRRRRRR ~  
> brain shush  
> anyways  
> update ahahahha ; v ; sorry i haven't updated in so friggin long ; m ; and sorry if this is crappy ; H ;  
> haven't written stuffu in a while  
> A shout out and a thank you to basil-rinato-juniper@tumblr for being an awesome brobro, proofreading and testing i guess this chapter as well as the previous chapters ( ﾉ ･ ヮ ･)ﾉ*:･ﾟ* ॣ৳৸ᵃᵑᵏ Ꮍ৹੫ᵎ *ॣ

_Typical._ They should’ve expected this, especially because of the fact that this earthling was a mere child. The disheveled boy resting on the other side of the damned, wretched, man-made barricade (which was also known as “a fence”) looked to be about six to seven years of age. Although the being may possess an endless abundance of knowledge on history, the mind, the meaning of life and other unnecessary information, that definitely didn’t mean that they were always accurate or correct. The concealed life-form internally scowled and cursed when they, yet again, acknowledged this fact. They never were very fond of children; little ones were more unpredictable than the rest. The last brat that settled into this dump was excruciatingly obnoxious and melodramatic about their pointless, insipid and evanescent life. Fortunately, the little prick offed himself, saving much vexatious work for them.

As the creature recalled those dreadful yet nostalgic days, the still unkempt brunet sat there, staring blankly at the fence, waiting for the other’s answer to his statement.

 _“Are they still here?”_ wondered the boy, becoming a tad impatient.

The boy’s next movement seemed to unfold in slow motion. He reached out towards the wooden barrier to force his tiny, delicate hand through the hole and reached out for the being’s obscured visage.

“Hello? Are you there?” enquired the naive lad, his hand grasping and attempting to grab the entity’s face.

They could only gape at the child’s audacity. An ordinary and insignificant mortal with at least an ounce of logic wouldn’t have done what the coffee-haired fleshbag had just done (without coercion, that is). Had he not heard any of the rumors or the legends? No, the kid must have—to live here tranquilly and contently in ignorance was nearly impossible. Without warning, the creature was pulled from their thoughts by an unanticipated yank on their head.

“Ah! S-sorry about that!” yelped the young man, shocked and somewhat embarrassed by his actions.

The hidden individual gave no response to the kid’s exclamation, for they were far too busy restraining the intensified emotions of astonishment and perplexity. Pine Tree shouldn’t have been able to touch them; he was a being of pure energy and any carbon-based organism that was able to withstand said energy surrounding the air around them without feeling a _slight_  burning sensation was undeniably one worthy of applause. His arm should’ve seethed and fizzed, like that popular brand of soda those meatsacks drank these days, and his body should’ve unceremoniously erupted into chunks and bits of his entrails and blood. At the very least, one, if not both, of his hands should’ve acquired some sort of deformity or extra appendage, like Sixer. They frowned at the reminder of the man, though only momentarily.

The entity then waited with anticipation for a few moments, waiting for something strange to happen to the brunet with the sheepish smile. Although, nothing ever did.

 _“Why? Why isn’t he screaming in pain!?”_ they thought, cursing in annoyance within their mind. _“There’s nothing special about this kid, right? He’s just a normal human brat! His fate should’ve been sealed—”_

Realization clicked in. The obscured creature smirked a face-splitting grin; a great maw filled with a set of ivory white fangs. As if he was able to sense the malice radiating from the unseen individual, the child recoiled and slightly backed away from the fence.

“Ah, I see,” they mumbled, ignorant of the fact that the cocoa brown-haired meatbag had heard him.

“Huh? Sorry, what’d you say?” asked the brunet, rather startled by the other’s voice.

“‘S nothing, kid. Say, how long have you been here?” they inquired. The young man raised an eyebrow in suspicion and hesitation at their question. He felt as if he should stop conversing with whoever the hell was there, though he’d feel lonesome and crestfallen like before.

“Oh. Since a week ago. We just moved. But I’ve been here before,” stated the boy, a polite smile painted on his face.

“Is that so…” they uttered, the menacing smirk that was plastered on their visage was now softened.

“Why’d you as—” he questioned, before he was impolitely interrupted by the other.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Yeah?” responded the child, sighing in slight annoyance.

“What’s your name?” they asked.

The brunet paused momentarily, wondering to himself as to whether he should speak or not.

_“They seem harmless. It should be fine, I guess.”_

After deciding, he then said, “It’s Dipper. Dipper Pines.” It wasn’t his birth name but because of his birthmark, people started to call him that. It sort of stuck. “Why didn’t you ask bef—”

“Cool name, but I don’t really like it. It doesn’t suit a cutie like you,” interjected the fairly rude individual on the secluded side of the fence. The boy’s burnt umber-coloured orbs for eyes widened and blinked in disbelief at their declaration. He felt as if his face was now lit aflame.

“Ex-excuse me?” he stammered, feeling rather embarrassed and hoping that he was simply hearing things.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll continue calling you Pine Tree for now,” said the voice.

“O-okay? But honestly, I’d rather be called Dip—” declared the young man, before he was interrupted, yet again. He should really stop trying to state his opinion or to ask questions. It was practically futile, after all.

They lied, “My name’s William but that sounds _way_ too formal. So call me ‘Bill,’ ‘kay kid?”

“Sure,” sighed Dipper, quite irritated by himself and Bill. He was pulled out of his pondering by the voice belonging to the other.

“Say P.T.”

“‘P.T.’?” the brunet questioned, knitting his brows in confusion.

“Yeah. Short for Pine Tree,” answered Bill, in a nonchalant manner as they rolled their eye.

“Oh,” he replied dumbly. The voice snickered, amused by his reply.

“‘Oh’ is right, kid. Anyways, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” he stated apathetically, awaiting their incoming inquiry.

“Do you want to be friends?” demanded the entity on the other side, whom the young Pines twin assumed was a mortal child like himself. The brunet blinked, dumbfounded, processing their request carefully before a lopsided, goofy grin cracked their face. The grin instantaneously turned into giggles and chuckles which turned into laughter. The unknown being remained silent, perplexed and fairly disgruntled by the reaction of a certain young Dipper Pines. They were contemplating on whether they should send the kid a few misfortunes or nightmares for a few weeks. That was until he gradually stopped his roaring, yet adorable, laughter to look at them through the hole with his caramel-coloured, saucerlike eyes.

“You don’t need to ask something like that!” he giggled, beaming.

 

* * *

 

The two chatted for the following hours. They talked of many things: themselves, their dreams, the mysteries of this town and so on. Though, at times, they leaned against the fence, watching the clouds and making jokes about both silly and serious things. Then Dipper’s sister arrived home, calling out to him from the entrance of the house, wondering where he was. The twin knew he had to leave. He felt rather melancholic for temporarily parting with his newfound friend. The innocent boy then asked, “You’re going to be here tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll always be here if you need me, Pine Tree,” answered Bill. The child merely grinned politely and merrily as he sauntered towards the stronghold known as ‘home.’

As the lad walked away with a slight but barely noticeable limp, he was immediately consumed by incredible uncertainty and shame. The voices within a memory were currently screaming bloody murder in his mind, blaring over and over like sirens. This familiar recollection repeated over and over during his recent conversation as if it was a broken record.

 _“Dipper,”_ his parents would start, _“you know you shouldn’t talk to strangers.”_

 _“But what could go wrong? It’s just this once…”_ pondered the young lad, as a warm smile graced his face, _“Besides, he’s my friend now!”_

And such a foolish thought it was.

“YF, G QCC. GR QCCKQ RFYR DYRC FYQ BCAGBCB DMP WMS RM ZC UGRF KC.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp that's the third chapter ( ﾉ *´ヮ´*)ﾉ  
> remember, not everything is at it seems (but after watching gravity falls i think we all know that. still that reminder's there for a reason just so you know nudge nudge e v e)  
> let me know in the comments about any errors since this was sort of rushed ahaha ""; v ;  
> oh yeah I'm probably going to rename the chapters later  
> a lot later  
> like when this series is done lol  
> yeah  
> whelp have a good day/night/afternoon/morning/idek ☆ﾟ･*:｡.:( *ﾟ▽ﾟ* )ﾟ･*:..:☆


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: Horror, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Bugs & Insects, Animal Death, Blood & Gore, Mentioned/Implied/Referenced Bullying, (a very tiny smidgen of) Crying & Vomiting.**
> 
> \---
> 
> this took so long i'm crying ; - ;  
>  least it's done tho and yes i did delete the last two chapters since this one's the completed one i'm not good at telling the intensity of warnings and whatnot but to me the ones for this chapter's _really_ mild (aka barely anything). if you think i should add/remove warnings or up the rating of this fanfic, please do tell since i honestly don't really know thank you ;;  
>  **A GARGANTUAN THANK YOU TO[La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza) FOR THEIR AWESOME TUTORIALS AND ADVICE THAT HELPED ME WITH HIDING THE CODES IN THIS CHAPTER Q W Q**  
>  YES, THERE ARE CODES, HAVE FUN FINDING AND SOLVING THEM

The remainder of the day proceeded satisfactorily and quietly. After his skinned knee was properly washed, cleaned and covered by a vibrant, multicolored, glitter-infested band-aid (courtesy of his sister, Mabel Pines), the young lad had played a few rounds of mini golf with his buoyant sibling in their room until the girl had to withdraw from the game for yet another sleepover—therefore concluding their contest prematurely. The boy thought about returning to the fence to continue his conversation with his newfound friend, although nightfall was hastily approaching. He decided to visit the other sometime during the following day.

Once again, like before, there was no Mabel and no one to play with. The child would check if there were any intriguing programs broadcasting on the television but his great-uncle, who is known to the twins and as well as many others as “Grunkle Stan,” was currently monopolizing the television set. The brunet sighed at the sight of the elderly male lounging in the rather shabby, mustard-yellow seat, nonchalantly consuming a bag of toffee peanuts. His relative was entirely mesmerized by the game show he was spectating. It was quite saddening.

The cinnamon brown-haired boy scampered up the staircase and through the hallway leading to the chamber of the Pines twins. He picked up a novel from the abundance of books he possessed and flopped onto his bed, feeling slightly fatigued. The kid cracked open the novel he had read numerous times afore and commenced reading.

A familiar fragrance lingered in the air. It smelled of freshly-baked bread with melting butter spread across its soft, inner portion. The scent of a seemingly rather sweet-tasting, mouth-watering steak joined and pranced about the house with the subtle smell of bread. The two aromas were two lovers dancing in perfect harmony. The lad’s stomach rumbled; he felt famished.

“What time is it?” wondered the weary child, “How long have I been reading?”

His eyelids felt heavy, as if they were lead. The brunet felt like he was floating. He felt himself beginning to nod off, struggling to remain conscious. As his vision began to blur and his senses began to fade, he managed to hear a faint whisper—a reminder uttering from a throaty, gruff voice dwelling within his mind.

_“Don’t forget. Trust no one,”_  it said, before the book slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground.

 

* * *

 

The boy woke up, alarmed. His mouth was oddly dry and his throat scorched; each and every breath he took felt like inhaling a box filled with syringes and broken glass. Wide and observant carob-hued eyes scanned the room that was nearly completely shrouded in blackness and lit only by the soft, dim orange glow spilling through the window’s view and his night light situated next to the corner of the bedstead.

 

_“It feels like I’̯̘̮̯̼͍ve̦̼̘̲͎ ͚͇f̻̭͉͙ͅo͚̗͎̖͖̺r̬̱gotṭ̘͡e̻͖̜n̜̝͖ͅ ̼̠ͅs̹̣͇̦̯̦om̟̼̥e̶t̵͎h̞̙̳̣i͇̞̤ñ̯͖̙͖ͧ̅̍g̤̯̤̿ͩ̒̏ͭ.̴̬͎̎̇ͭ͟ͅ.͔̻̣̩̯͉͉͓ͮͩ̋̒ͭ̒̓̓̕̕.̷͎̯̥̌̕ ͈̬̍ͦ͐̽͛̋̐I̱͔̝̒ͮ͒ͣt̖ͦ̉̇̑ͮ̂ ̲̫̗͕̜ͅw̖͇̠̽̐a̭̘͋̉s̰̬̋̑ͩ̏ ̬̻ͭ̄͛ï̥̓̄̍m͎̙̼̦̬p̘̹͍͚̙̿ͤ͂ͧ̊̈́ͯo̿̂͋̉̔ͅr̟͉̗͇̳̯̍ͅt̗͌ͦ͆̓͌a͎̙̙̙̼n̬̦̣͖͚t͍͙̹̲̒.̗̞͖̊ͅ”_

 

The inquisitive youth scrambled into a position that allowed him to sit comfortably with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed as he studied the one beside his. It seemed to be the same as always: dolls, sock puppets, glitter, boy band merchandise and other miscellaneous objects were either sprucely arranged in a visually appealing manner or strewn across the vicinity. Underneath all the clutter was the knitted blanket his sister had made. Someone laid there—quiet, concealed and unmoving. An ephemeral yet dreadful silence transpired until it was promptly shattered by the sounds of choked sobs and mangled cries that erupted from whoever was beneath the quilt. They shifted and started to bang against the headboard, with their hoarse, strangled wails and bawls gradually increasing in volume.

“M-Mabel? Is that you?” enquired the young man feebly. But it couldn’t be her; she should still be at the sleepover. Shaking, he reached out towards the other bed. The weeping and shrieking grew louder and louder and the strikes on the mattress and wood of the headboard became more and more volatile and aggressive as Dipper’s little, minikin hand inched closer and closer. Dainty, delicate fingers clutched a portion of the blanket and briskly pulled it off of the hidden being. On the surface of the mattress where some entity should have been was nothing. The deafening cacophony ceased once the veil over the thing was lifted and the tyke’s countless, fleeting breaths decreased drastically afterwards as brief solace and relief leisurely washed over him in cooling waves.

A perplexed Mason remained there, overwhelmed by incertitude, anxiety and the endless stream of bothersome queries that brought copious amounts of dismay and worry. The child’s mind was swimming, gasping— _drowning_ —in a sea of words. He felt like he was being submerged in this whirlpool of relentless thoughts.

_Knock._  
_Knock._

Hushed though audibly clear rappings on the chamber’s entrance roused him from his pestering, vexatious worries and woes.

Compelled, the lad reluctantly got up and approached the door with attentiveness. Before the towering, foreboding structure, he temporarily froze and transformed into an immobile, stone statue that gazed upwards towards the rusted but still glittering knob.

Now recovered, the male Pines twin stood on his tiptoes to ebb away the several (well, perhaps more than several) inches between him and the handle as his hand flailed about, trying to grasp it. After what felt like years for the little man, he had finally seized the astonishingly elusive and seemingly unreachable doorknob; a triumphant smile graced his face. With wobbling limbs, he twisted it, giving the wooden barricade a gentle push with his free hand as he opened it. What the sapling had uncovered was, once more, nothing—only darkness that devoured and engulfed the newfound area, leaving a ceaseless chasm of vacuity.

As if a hostile, malicious form may arise from the onyx abyss, the fairly trepidatious and apprehensive brunet hurriedly shut the door. In the periphery of his vision, he noticed a shift in the previously weak but now vibrant orange light that was pouring into a section of the bedchamber through the scuffed glass. Curious, the youth drifted towards it and peeked out the bleary, hazy window.

The land outside was covered in orderly rows of suburban houses under layering heaps of snow. A sole lamppost positioned itself at a crossroads, standing erect, upright and proud.

_“That’s weird,”_ Dipper mused, _“It’s not even fall.”_

Unanticipatedly and suddenly, the orange-hued light emanating from the streetlight steadily changed to a frigid but alluring azure-blue. The kid retreated, slightly disquieted and unsettled.

The abrupt, groaning yawn of stirring, awakening doors from behind the young man caused him to release an effeminate and unmanly squeak. Pearls of sweat beaded on his temple and shivering hands, slinking down the smooth texture of his skin as the boy tentatively turned around.

A massive though plain and chalky closet had appeared. It sat a few meters away from the doe-eyed child on its stubby, squat legs. Its doors were left unguarded and wide open; it was as if they were the wardrobe’s arms, requesting and longing for a single embrace. Twin mocha-brown saucers scrutinized a seemingly never-ending and claustrophobic corridor lying within the peculiar piece of furniture. Wall-mounted candelabra lined the hall’s sides, illuminating it with periodic, misty splotches of faint candlelight. It possessed flooring made from fine and carefully carved timber as well as vivid, crimson wallpaper, bearing intricate, golden floral designs that stretched and waltzed about the fabric’s exterior.

 

_“ͩ̏̑͂͑̓Ì̂͑ͫt̠̳͎’͚͎̺͖̲̓̔̇̅̂̀ͪś̞̭ ̝̐̎̿ͯ̿̓̔t̻̰͎̫̳̙i͙̱̻͑̓m̗̲̫̙̳̟̓e̦̱͌ ̬̰tͧ̄̌ō̗̦ͭ̾ͫͥ̐̚ ̳̳̫̲̯̈g͖̬͓̫͈o͆ͣ.̯ͦ̉͂̾̆̒”͚͚̱̾̌ͬ̎̚_

 

As if in a trance, the brunet entered and descended further down the dingy passage, unmindful of the doors behind him clicking shut and of whatever lurked ahead.

 

* * *

 

How long had he been here?

_He didn’t know._

Where was he?

_He didn’t know._

Why was he here?

_He didn’t know._

Did it really matter?

_…_

The lad’s legs were aching, like a thousand searing needles glowing red with heat were piercing through his flesh and poking at the pores of his skin from deep within the marrows of his bones.

Nevertheless, he stumbled on.

For perhaps the first few hundred meters, the youngling was greeted with the same sights—the same wine-red, Victorian wallpaper, the same lamps fueled by obsidian oil and the same translucent, ever-altering shadows enclosing the abyssal void that awaited at the end of the hallway and nibbling away at the edges of each patch of light illuminating the corridor’s sides. But, whether it was for better or for worse, rather anomalous and abnormal closed doors arranged sporadically along the walls eventually began materializing.

With his blessed but baneful curiosity consuming him, he tried some of them. The first two doors were both fake while the third and fourth were locked. The last door he attempted opening was made from an amalgamation of cypress boughs, fir bark, ligneous sculptures, foul-smelling pelts and taxidermic mounts of a diversity of critters. While the tyke drew nearer to the entrance, a calloused though ladylike hand comprised of woven, lengthy, cherry-red strings with its palm facing upwards emerged from the entryway.

Mere millimeters away from the handlelike appendage, he stopped. 

 

_“̛̞̼͉́ͩ͞N̋̍̓ͬ͏̻̯̼͎̰o͛ͥ̓͡͡҉̫ţ̶̟̹͓̲̩̘̟̋̂ͬ̋̿ ̪͍̼̲̱̖̜̔͐͛͌̇ý̴̰͙̉͌̎̿̔͒͋͜e̢̢̳̽̀ͯ͑ͬ͜ṯ̯͈̠̱̯̰̇ͪ̃̅̒̒.̶̧͇̣͖ͫ̽ͭͧ͢ L̶̸̪̼̲̺̱̘͗̅̄̇ͫ̌ͧͣm̡̝̦̟̞͖ͫ̎̾ͬ̀ͮ̅̎̐ͅr̗̣̲͍̖̹̱ͮ͊̍̉̑̀͞ ̯̥̬̲̳̱̗͙̭̌̈́̑̍̊͛͟c̸̤̘͋ͨͅt͕̳͉̲̜͈͚̙͋ͦ͠c͙̖̙͚̐̍p̞̞̳̝̖͈ͨ͞,̴̲̩̭̑͌͆͜͡”̻̹̄̓ y͡ ͢tmgac͘ ͡apm͜ml̢c̷b҉ ͘q͘m̧drjw. Gr͝ ̛u̸yq y͞ e͘f̧mqr m̸d ̡y͟ uf͟g̨qnc̕p, ̴y z͘p͏c͘yrf͟—̢gr ͟u͏yq͜l͏’҉r fgq. _

 

A wise choice.

All of a sudden, pulsating and hissing woodlice and centipedes surfaced and oozed out from the narrow chinks and cracks in the entranceway and the now unravelling hand. They gnawed and gobbled and ate their way through, their minute, hairlike legs wriggling and writhing all the while.

With their originally shut mouths now ajar, more swarms came spurting out from the formerly sealed and currently unclosed jaws of the skins and heads of the dead creatures. Their beadlike eyes soon came popping and bouncing out from their sockets as more hordes of the squirming crawlers pushed and shoved their way out the finally open orifices.

Little Dipper could only shriek in horror afore willing his throbbing, quaking limbs to carry him away from the grisly scene.

The boy ran and ran and ran. There was nothing chasing after him, however. None of the insects that were seeping through the craters and gaps of the carmine doorway or some petrifying, eldritch monstrosity conjured from the creeping silhouettes plastered on the corridor’s walls. There was no one; nothing.

And that fact strangely frightened him the most.

So he ran.

He ran and ran until he could no longer feel his burning, noodlelike limbs, until his already hurting throat clenched and it was as if he was suffocating, until all he could do was collapse and fall, fall, _fall._ And fall he did, right in front of the evasive and hitherto fictitious and fantastical end of the once unending passage.

The child looked up, rubbing weary tears from his eyes. What laid before him was a simple door, painted a cold, steel blue. A muffled melody could be heard slinking past its practically nonexistent, inconspicuous rifts and crevices.

Through his huffs and puffs, he shivered and gulped down the fatigue and renewed fear that had recently settled into the depths of his hammering heart once again. The youngling rested and lingered there to catch his breath while sitting on tucked, cream-colored legs, splayed out to opposing sides and forming the shape of a “w.” After several minutes of recuperating, he warily ascended and grabbed the securely attached, glistering and kaleidoscopic crystal doorknob in his hand. With a slow, hesitant turn and a meager, prudent push, it opened.

He beheld a rather unusual sight.

Unfriendly, rigid stripes aligned vertically in two alternating shades of prussian and celestial blue coated the walls of the newly discovered chamber and saluted him, their false airs of amiability and ideality straining. By the entryway was a vacant chair, its skeleton fabricated from polished silver, plush navy cushions acting as its flesh surrounded by the burnished bars of its framework. Plethoras of glow-in-the-dark star stickers faintly emitting a viridescent, phosphorescent glow were speckled across all sides of the room, save for its bottom. A glaring spotlight hung from the ceiling shone proudly over a grand piano that stood in the midst of the space, sporting sleek black paint and eighty-eight keys for both accidentals and naturals, its three slender pillars fixed to a checkerboard floor, supporting its weight. Seated atop a padded bench crafted for and in front of the percussion instrument was a pudgy cat, fur colored such a sheer white that would put the purest rays of sunlight to shame. It had a tuft of thick hair, combed and slicked back on top of its skull into something that resembled a pompadour. A lone stilt was loosely strapped to the foot of one of the critter’s hind legs so that it could reach the brass pedals located near the base of the piano.

Somehow, in unparalleled nimbleness and grace, the feline’s paws darted about the musical device’s surface, striking each and every note with heedful but perfect and refined touches. It should have been impossible; to perform such a complicated piece completed with so much motion and so many trills and changes should not have been feasible for a mammal with no opposable thumbs or fingers and who most likely did not even have the cognitive capacity to comprehend the markings scrawled about the papers on the built-in stand before it. Yet here it was, disproving logic and reality.

Still fairly bemused with his findings, the younger Pines twin subconsciously made his way to sit in the formerly unoccupied seat beside the entrance. No reaction came from the animal.

The myriads of a variety of notes played on both treble and bass staves were much clearer compared to before, producing an enchanting though sorrowfully somber tune. The song skewered his heart, leaving gaping holes, bleeding wounds and a melancholic sentiment of emptiness in its wake. It would’ve left him astounded, in admiration and applause—in fact, it should have done so, if not for the traces of clouded animosity and subterfuge his eyes detected from the beast with fingers resembling the fangs of a tarantula.

The youngster continued to listen as the other continued to play. The ambience was tranquil and soothing, uncannily so.

_“Something’s off,”_ thought the brunet, brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure _what_ though. Of course coming across a random cat practicing the piano was wholly and irrefutably unnatural but there was something else about the fluffy being that disconcerted him—something he couldn’t quite place.

Pools of rich caramel narrowed in suspicion as a lower lip was abused and bitten and a jaw clenched in resolve.

The lad hoisted himself up from the chair, unsure steps guiding his small frame towards the mammalian organism. It still hadn’t noticed him.

Unhurriedly and with great heed, he raised a frail hand and nudged the creature’s back. In immediate response, the stilt slipped and fell away with a clatter as the feline stiffened and played a sour chord afore whipping its contorted, ire-laden face in the kid’s direction, growling and hissing as it swiftly lifted a paw of its own—honed claws visible and outstretched.

The boy didn’t recoil fast enough.

Keen nails plunged into his flesh, briefly hooking into the taut muscles before dragging them down the slim limb that hastily retracted only after the beast had left its mark. Briny tears threatened and pricked and stung shocked, walnut-brown saucers as trembling fingers wrapped tightly around an injured arm and scarlet trickled onto linoleum. The porcelain-white varmint moved to advance and land another strike on the cowering child but stopped shortly.

A pregnant pause made itself known to the room just to be thrusted back outside to face the harsh though less smothering solitude almost as instantaneously as it had came.

What pushed it out was the stabbing, guttural cry fleeing through the felid’s maw, sliding down its thrashing tongue.

This screech was speedily followed by multitudes of others as the poor thing rolled, toppled and crumpled down, onto the floor. Its appendages quaked and spasmed and scrunched painfully at inconceivably sharp angles as it curled itself up into a misshapen, rather disfigured and grotesque ball of sorts, like a dying spider. While it did so, its ribs steadily stretched outwards and prodded at the meaty interior of its stunning coat, until they punctured through the once unsullied sheets of ruddy skin and alabaster fur, liberating squelching, spilling entrails that leaked and wept glistening aquamarine blood that was previously confined within the walls of the many tubular pathways built inside its now rotting carcass.

Then it all came to a halt.

The noises died down and dissolved into silence. The animal’s corpse stayed in its wretched, sorry state, convulsing and bleeding out, bathing in its bodily fluids all the while. An atmosphere akin to a tense, weary placidity reigned over the eerie place.

Alas, this wondrous conclusion in its splendour was all but everlasting.

Puddles of turquoise began gushing back into the tunnels whence they came as torn skin and shredded muscles mended themselves, filament by filament, vein by vein, capillary by capillary. Grating yelps and shrill howls soon composed a dissonant symphony with the snapping and creaking and cracking of what were broken bones, flooding the room with godawful, odious sound.

And so, the cat was now lying on the floor, alive and well once more… only to die its gruesome death the very next second and to be revived again in the one after. The process repeated itself over and over and over; the feline was entangled in a vicious, perpetual loop of life and death.

The horrified youth reeled backwards, his unmarred hand clasped over his mouth as if it could prevent the bile and vomit on the verge of escaping the confines of his lurching gut. He spun towards the entry of the chamber—or at least where it should have been—in the hope of being able to bolt from the room and sprint far, far away from the ghastly, macabre mess spread out before him. His prayers fell on deaf ears.

 

_“̴̡̫̙ͤ͗̔Ṋͫŏ̵̸̜̺͖̯̣̘̽̓ ̘̤̿͐ͅg̺͉͊̐͞ͅơ̷͈͙͕͚̼̼̩͍ͫ͗̂̃͂̄̃ͬ͡ï͍̫̳̪ͪ͠n̟̭͔͈̠̞̥̙̍ͪ̉ͩg̢̼͉͇͔̹̻͔̫̙̍̈́̔̈́͋̆ͥ͊̕ ̃̒͗̓̓̊ͯ҉͎̫̝͓̹̭̺b̷̤͎̺̿ͨ̎ͤ̚͡a͙͉͈͓̦̪̍̎c̩̠ͬͬ̅̆͞k̥͇͒̓͌̆͌͞.̢̲̫̼̥̻̀̊̍̓ͅ”̛̭͖̠͉̋ͩ̅̆ͭͩ̚_

 

The door was gone.

Replacing both the entranceway and the wall was a void, serving as the sky and kissing a ground of what looked to be glassy, daisy-white ceramic. The youngster whirled about again, this time to where the felid had once lain. The same stretch of nothingness and plane of ivory welcomed him instead.

He held his belly as he doubled over, expelling the acid that had swished and sloshed around his stomach, singeing his insides.

A tremulous forearm wiped away the saliva slathered onto his visage before Dipper sank down until he was sitting on his haunches, cradling his hanging, pounding head in his arms.

Hiccups, whimpers and sniffs absconded from their prison through the ever-changing gap between his lips as limpid rivers streamed down two flushed, fleshy hills from identical obscured lakes of cola-brown. Exhaustion and confusion overtook him, resulting in welling tears breaking through the dams in his eyes, flooding originally dry slopes of skin; though frustration bubbled within from the bottom of his heart, he paid it no mind.

He didn’t worry if one of the bullies from school would abruptly barge in to deliver more kicks and blows to his already sore body just to make him sob even harder. He wouldn’t fret if his father would stroll in, sit in the usual chair and peep over from the edges of the local paper while telling him to “man up” with a concerned stare then a disappointed shake of his head.

The little sapling didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to cry peacefully for a bit. Was that too much to ask?

After wiping his rosy, puffy eyes with his tiny fists for what seemed like hours, a hand bearing an extra digit tousled his hair in an effort to provide the lad some comfort and reassurance.

 

_“Follow the trai͘͜͝l̶.̨̕ Dͬ͘q̡ͬ̆͊̂̇͠oͪ̋ͫ͞m̱̫̤ͨͣ̔̍͐͠͞ ̃̐̌̃̅̓͊̒͏̰̬̻̝̯̱̫͙͟s̀ͬ̃͛ͭ͛̽ͯ͢x̲͙̘͉̠̌͒͋̄͊̈͞q̨̪ͣͦ̎̕͘ͅh̷̡̲̣ͥ̈́̽ͫ͋̂̿q̷̙͙͇͙̳̩̐̀́͑̈͊̅̓ ̷͈͚̣̃̂̍͊ṡ͓͌ͭͯ̈ͫ͂͡͠s̹͚̮̯̘̣̬̐̓̈̎́ͯͤ̎͜ ̺̟̍ͭ̂̌́̽ͦ̋̅͞ë̬̗̐͘͘ͅk̷̘̤̱͔͉̳̑͂̈͊ͭ͛͌s̗͕ͧy̞͎̱͇̝͊ͥͨ͆̐͝ͅs̱̯̫͙͂ͭ̂ͧ́̊̐̒p̞̲͙̮̘̻̮̉͒͒̀͗͊ͪ͋͐͠ ̧̠̙̤͔͖̫̖͋̃ͯͧ̋̓j̡̟̘̹̫͈̞ͫͨͧ̈͐͒r̜͓̝̾̆̓ͩͬ̚ͅͅk̳͇̘̬̠̞̳̪̳̿͂ͭ̐y̭͓̤̥͇̱̠̝ͥ̍̕a̧͈̥̻͙̳ͥͣͤͭ.̵̋͂͛ͩͬ̏̏͏̟͉”̃̀ͩ_

 

He unfolded his arms and glanced up. The afterimage of a man standing in his presence that flashed out of existence in mere moments didn’t go unnoticed by the tyke. It wasn’t the only thing that was different.

The stinging pain from his scratched appendage was gone, along with the laceration itself and the accumulated soreness and fatigue he had felt throughout his whole figure. A strait path matching the shade of the no longer bare expanse of ebony unfurled on the land before him. There were currently white outlines of various three-dimensional geometric shapes, imitating clouds by gracefully sailing about the coal-black empyrean.

With a few more rubs to moist, florid covers cloaking gingerbread-colored irises, he rose to his feet. In want of a finale to whatever this was and in bated breath, he journeyed onwards. Knowing how long the corridor was, this trek was sure to be an even longer one. He was right to think so.

Decades and centuries passed him by, although he knew for a fact that it couldn’t have been more than just a few hours, perhaps even less. New sights were met when he felt as though his limbs were closing in on the point of buckling and giving way.

Blanched silhouettes of trees that seemed like extensions of the ground were the first to show themselves, flaunting fleece-white outlines of two-dimensional polygons for leaves, some of the shapes triangular, others quadrilateral. Floating specks of light were the next to make their debut, proficiently mimicking fireflies with refined expertise as they danced their way into the young man’s field of vision.

Further down the route, he encountered more oddities—from swimming bluebirds and lumbering frogs to soaring pigs, giggling kittens and leaping dolphins. Some snaked around his arms and legs and others grazed against the soles of his sock-covered feet or the sides of his hands as they traveled by before resuming their journey to who-knows-where. He couldn’t help but think that both the creatures and their movements were captivatingly beautiful and rather queer, as if they were all part of an elaborate waltz and he was a simple spectator that was cutting through.

Eventually, the ethereal glowflyesque lights, anomalous animals and quaint flora progressively started to dwindle in numbers afore parting entirely, leaving only the Pines kid and the ongoing road.

After walking for a few more miles, the track began to thin and narrow, until it was no more than a mere thread. Something warm brushed against his temple.

He turned his gaze towards the heavens.

Just then, the earth, the upper atmosphere and their features flickered, until they at last settled on switching tones, thereby inverting the world’s color scheme. A drizzle of sable ashes hitherto camouflaged by a once charcoal firmament drifted and glided downwards from not the mathematical structures acting as the clouds, but from the blankness of the aforesaid sky itself. He looked back down.

An open grave laid at his feet.

Within the shallowly dug ditch was a coffin, its lid nowhere to be seen and said lid’s absence granting view of the receptacle’s secrets to onlookers. The body inside was that of the gentleman he caught a glimpse of before. The man was clad in a turtleneck sweater and a tattered trench coat while his mug was fixed into a permanent, intimidating frown. Taking a closer, better look, the brunet realized that the man’s glasses-framed eyes were like bowls of milk and that they were aimed at him.

The elder lifted a strong but rather battered and quivering hand as the stiff muscles of his neck worked to twist his head in the youngling’s direction. The guy’s lips parted and shut again and again, as if he was struggling with wrangling the right words to say.

When the man finally found them, he murmured, “...”

Nothing. Just a breathless sigh.

The little one blinked. The coffin wasn’t there anymore.

He peered skywards, craning his neck while taking in the sight of the tar-colored ashes that came tumbling down. A single ash fell onto his button nose as he closed his eyes.

It reminded him of snow.

 

* * *

 

The boy woke up, alarmed.

Panting, he examined his surroundings, sweeping over every nook and cranny with vigilance. Everything was just as he’d left it, though the scents from earlier weren’t as strong as they were heretofore and the sun was already long gone and had went to bed. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pinched himself for good measure.

“I’m back,” he mumbled, tone disbelieving and mind dazed and muddled. It was only a dream, it seems.

“…I’m back.”

He stayed there amongst the fairly sweaty and damp sheets, before getting up and ambling out the door of the attic that served as the twins’ bedroom, by the old man snoozing in the living room in the regular sofa chair, past the portraits and paintings hung along the facets of his home’s walls and into the kitchen. With still clammy hands, he flicked on the lights and took out a mug from one of the many cabinets and the half-empty carton of milk from the fridge. He poured himself a cup, heated it in the microwave, tossed the presently empty carton in the recycling bin and sat down at the table after retrieving the now hot mug of milk from the microwave.

The brunet remained there in the heavy silence that was weighing down on his shoulders as more questions once again swirled around his addled brain.

_“What was that? What did it all mean? Does it even mean anything? What was he trying to say?”_

Any evoked sentiments or enquiries spawned by the dream as well as the dream itself soon began to fizz and wane away from his memory however as tides of drowsiness swept over and eventually consumed him whole.

This time, young Dipper Pines dreamt of seeing through blind eyes—of being ensnared in dusk eternal, encased in the snug warmth of doting arms. Large hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head upwards, stroking and caressing the smooth skin longingly while gently, playfully squeezing the still present baby fat every so often. Lips peppered kind, honeyed kisses to closed lids, causing dark-chocolate lashes to flutter and sway ever oh-so-very slightly, but never pulling open those fair, flesh-coloured curtains to expose glimmering ponds of syrup. The embrace that trapped him was loving and affectionate but uncomfortably tight and stifling (almost as if the entity there planned to never let him go).

He leaned into it.

 

* * *

 

The blackened, ink-stained orbs of a crow perched on a nearby windowsill reflected the beguiling and scintillating light of the golden moon while it watched the boy who was lost in deep slumber. His chest heaved, each inhale and exhale coming one after the other at a rhythmic, serene pace as drool dribbled down from a corner of his mouth to his chin.

The raven’s eyes crinkled in amusement—every crease and fold of its crepey shells curved upwards—as its head twitched and jerked in a motion that would suggest that the critter was snickering.

Like how quickly it had appeared, the avian then vanished in a trice.

It did not fly away, it did not saunter to another area, it did not melt nor recede into the porous cloak of soot that was the night sky…

It simply disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **An Extra Tale: You Can’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks**
> 
> **Alternative Title: It’s Past Your Bedtime**
> 
> Stan awoke with a groan and stiff limbs at the ungodly hours of the morning. 
> 
> He squinted at the brightness of the infomercial flashing on the screen as he scratched his head and groggily rubbed his eyes using the forefinger and thumb of his other hand. With a yawn, he switched off the damned, noisy contraption and slid on his slippers.
> 
> As he moseyed on towards the kitchen for a drink to nurse his parched throat, Stan cocked a brow. The light was on. That’s not right. 
> 
> When he arrived at the doorway, his puzzlement swelled. A certain Pines twin was sleeping soundly at the table, next to a mug of milk.
> 
> The old-timer shrugged off the strange situation and summed it up as the brat’s insomnia. He proceeded to dump out the probably spoiled milk and place the cup in the sink. The guy was too tired to wash it now; he could care less if it was an incredulously easy task. 
> 
> While inwardly (and maybe a bit outwardly) grumbling, he fetched himself a glass of water to take to his room. 
> 
> After turning off the kitchen’s lights and striding out the chamber, he paused. The man stood there at the doorway and threw a glance back at the scamp who was still dozing off.
> 
> He drew his lips in a thin line and bit the insides of his cheeks to hide his growing smile and retain a stony exterior. The ancient relic sighed through his nose.
> 
> Let it be known that whoever draped a blanket over young Mason “Dipper” Pines to keep him warm during his slumber that day will forever remain a mystery to all but Stanley Pines (and those who love and truly know him).
> 
> **\---**
> 
> If there are any mistakes that I made or advice or possible tips for improvement that you have, please leave a comment. You could also leave one if you just want to talk/have something to say tho lol as long as you're not mean ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Thank you very much for reading and see you in the next one~ ｡.ﾟ+:((ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ)).:ﾟ+｡*:･ﾟ* ॣ৳৸ᵃᵑᵏ Ꮍ৹੫ᵎ *ॣ
> 
> imma go cry now since school starts tomorrow rip
> 
> Clues for clever, clever you: Mitstoakes weorlea matdee. Memory is key. What's a play without the puppets? Ol' King Midas was a blind foolish soul; he gave away his everything for a little bit of gold.


End file.
